


Pragma

by sloanesaysno



Series: soigné [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Arrangements, F/M, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Male Apprentice (The Arcana), Non-Consensual Kissing, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23394577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloanesaysno/pseuds/sloanesaysno
Summary: The arrangement is brokered with the moon as the only witness.
Relationships: Apprentice & Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice & Nadia (The Arcana), Apprentice & Valerius (The Arcana), Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana), Apprentice/Valerius (The Arcana), Valerius (The Arcana)/Original Character(s), Valerius (The Arcana)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: soigné [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571101
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. lubadus;

**Author's Note:**

> I did this instead of homework. You got time to read, you got time to study. Please don't be like me.

Ophelia will readily admit that the Consul is intriguing, but she'd rather die before saying that she has a positive, non-investigative interest in him. Not that she wants to suck up to Nadia, but it's that he is a suspect in this whole mess of the Count's death and whatnot, and she'll be all the more suspicious.

While she does make a good magician, she's certainly not as talented as Asra's beloved prodigy, Medea. Perhaps it's because she's not a classically trained magician as Medea is, but she doesn't prefer the toil of witchy brews and laborious rituals over the less physically intense reading.

That's why she makes an excellent investigator, actually. Reading objects and people and complex histories appeal to her more than creating something out of force of will and thin air. She's not envious of Medea-- she prefers staying at the palace and worrying about the threats here over worrying about threats elsewhere.

"Ophelia?" Portia's voice interrupts her thinking, and she reminds herself that she's not wandering the palace on her own, more free time. 

"Yes? Sorry, I got a little lost in my thoughts," she apologizes, turning away from the large lattice light window. 

"Well, the Consul wants to speak with you. Don't ask me why when it comes to him-- I'm fairly certain he hates me. Don't know why, either." Portia scrunches up her nose in distaste. 

Ophelia chuckles, and says, "Neither do I. Is he expecting me right now?"

"Unfortunately," Portia sighs. "You better get going now. I'll see you later. I hope."

"Portia! I will see you later, don't worry. Julian and I are going to have a little chit-chat later, you should come with us."

"Okay, okay. Now go! We don't want the Consul breaking anymore wine glasses, do we?"

"No. Bye, Portia."

The wing where she was in was not too far from the Consul's study. She took her time, and didn't bother hurrying. Nadia favors her, and there's not much that the Consul can do about it. Speaking of the Consul, she does find him a bit more snobbish than most Vesuvian elites, but funnily enough, his character seems to be a bit of a contradiction to his facade.

Ophelia can read people and objects simply with her sight, but most of the time, it's just the tip of the iceberg and it barely tells her anything valuable. She avoids touching people and objects because, most of time, the history or information about the object or person is left in the open and it simply falls in her lap for her to interpret.

She's brushed fingers with the Consul before, and she found nothing. He quickly pulled his hand away, an almost comedically nervous look flashing on his face for a brief moment. 

_Does he know?_

Ophelia knocks on the glossy, darkly stained wooden doors. 

"Come in."

Ophelia pushes the door open and steps through. The smell of sweetly spiced wine is thick in the air, and Ophelia sees the Consul standing, papers uncharacteristically scattered on his desk. Well, what did Ophelia know about his real characteristics? Not much.

"Good afternoon, Consul. You asked to see me?" Ophelia says, standing in the middle of his airy study.

"Yes. Have a seat." He gestures to the daybed near her, and he moves across the room to sit across her. He doesn't offer her a drink, though. Ophelia's eyes are on the dark, swirling liquid inside his wineglass. She sits before he does, not caring whether he sees that as an act of annoyance or not.

"Well?" Ophelia asks, trying to not sound too impatient or unkind. The Consul hasn't been rude to her, and neither has he made too much of a fuss about anything related to her. However, she's heard stories of his pompousness and his elitist ideologies. Though they are rumors, rumors still start for a reason.

"Your investigation is not as discreet as I'd like it to be. You have, occasionally, prevented the servants from doing their job efficiently, and you can't seal off entire corridors without permission," the Consul-- Valerius says flatly.

Ophelia raises a brow, but she allows him to continue.

"Though the Countess permitted your movement and gave you authority to 'do as you will', I remind you that the palace, its court, and inner workings exist very well outside of your realm, and that you shouldn't interfere as much as you do now."

Ophelia's lips pull into an amused smile. Valerius stares at her almost indignantly, and she feigns politeness and drops the smile. She's irritated by his thoughtless reminder.

"Consul," Ophelia begins in an almost sickly sweet tone. " _I_ remind _you_ that during a legitimate, official investigation, the place to be investigated is closed off to those who are not investigating or those who are not involved, and people being investigated are in the custody of the investigator, or the state."

The Consul narrows his eyes at her. 

"Though this is not an official investigation, it is one endorsed and backed by the Countess. If you have any qualms about what I do in order to complete this investigation, speak to the Countess, and she will speak to me."

"You think you're above me? Why, you--" Valerius snarls, his diplomatic facade disappearing like mist in warm air.

"Consul, don't threaten the investigator. It will only make you look more suspicious," Ophelia hisses, slamming her hand down onto the small, glass top table separating the two of them. The force isn't enough to break it, but it startles Valerius enough to shut him up.

He looks like he's been caught red-handed, a shocked yet mortified look on his face. But it's only there for a moment, and it disappears quickly enough for him to pretend it didn't happen.

Now, there's a calculating look on his face.

Ophelia gets up as though nothing has happened, and disappointedly gazes at Valerius. Neither of them has said anything yet, nothing to say after her threatening warning.

Valerius gets up suddenly, startling Ophelia, who takes a step back. He seems to be walking away, but he's only getting around the table to stand closer to her. Ophelia's too shocked to move away-- he puts a hand on her waist and tugs her to him, their bodies pressed together.

Outraged shock appears in Ophelia's eyes during the second right before he kisses her. 

"Mmph!" she yelps against his mouth. She stays still, and then kisses him back, letting out the faintest moan. And then, she suddenly pulls away, slapping Valerius soundly on the cheek.

The slap echoes through his study.

Ophelia rips his hands off her, and glares at him. "You'll regret that, Consul." She spits out, glowering at him, and then storming off. She pulls on his door, and slams it behind her.

So, it seems that he wants to play dirty. She will indulge in his pettiness, and make him regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is the fountain of youth and faster updates.


	2. alisveris;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How long has it been since I posted? One and a half months! I'm an absolute loser. I don't have an excuse besides my lack of will to move from my bed and click Notepad. I really hope I don't update around July next time... Don't worry, though. I've got an arsenal up my sleeves for Ophelia and her fellow OCs. Have fun reading and bear with my slowness, will you?

Ophelia wonders at the absurdity of their situation. Why, how odd it is to have the prim and proper Consul be kissing her in his study sometime during the hot afternoon while they (she!) not so subtly threatened each other about power plays and court intrigues and suspicion.

But that ridiculous kiss held rather interesting meaning. He could argue that it wasn't right of him to speak of a secret that didn't belong to him, and that he decided to show her instead. Rather clever of him, very snake-like. Or perhaps foxy?

"He's not exactly foxy if he does not falsely pass as cute," Ophelia mutters under her breath, staring into the flickering flame of the candle before her. She puts it out with a breath and watches the wispy smoke with a smile. How appropriate that he is rather like a snake. Older witches who read palms and the streaks in the sky only stared at her: the aid of a snake, a serpentine witch, a girl named Ophelia.

The grand library is empty, cold, and moon-lit, but Ophelia breathes better when the sun sets and when the moon glows and when the stars glitter. Perhaps others may have all that the sun touches, but the world falls to Ophelia's feet when the moon rises. And lo and behold, she need only reach down to have the vast entirety of humanity and its material distractions, and to have every story at her fingertips.

And she has the story of the Consul and the Count, every word all for her to see and hear.

The Consul is a clever man, and the Count is a pawn. Ophelia has decided to present a proposition to the Consul. Tonight, precisely. She's asked a servant to leave an envelope on the Consul's table, and she arranged their meeting to be at the library after nine PM, but before midnight.

The large door creaks open, followed by quiet footsteps. She didn't expect him to show up this early.

The Consul is holding a candelabrum and the steady glow of the warm flame casts his face in a lovely light. But though the light and his features are pretty to look at, he has a displeased scowl on his face. He strides towards her and then stops.

"Why have you called me at such a terrible hour, Inspector?" The Consul drawls out, refraining from snapping at her. His eyes burn, though.

"Terrible?" Ophelia asks, tilting her head just so and widening her eyes a little. She's trying to play him. It looks like it works for a moment, but the look in his eyes disappears and it's replaced with displeasure.

"Yes. I was doing paperwork and writing letters to the Firentian head of state," he replies flatly, and she can see that he's telling the truth.

"Oh? How... interesting," Ophelia grins, her smile razor-sharp for the briefest moment. "Anyway, I've asked you to come so I might present my proposal to you."

She gestures to the seats behind Valerius, and he turns away from her and sits there, setting down the candelabrum on the small table. She takes her seat, and leans toward him.

"Well?" He asks, his jaw set and his eyes flickering to the doors. Ophelia smiles at him indulgently and says, "Firstly, I want to thank you for the invaluable information you've given me. And quite a clever trick that was, but I suppose that to a man of your prestige should have it come naturally."

Valerius inclines his head in acknowledgement, but he looks the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"Now, I do understand the nature of what was your relationship with the Lucio, and I believe that something similar, but not nearly as uncomfortable, would benefit us both."

Now, his eyebrows have raised and he looks like he's trying to suppress his shock. Ophelia raises her chin and carries on.

"I'd like to offer you my expertise in magic to use at your reasonable disposal, and with that, my time and body. And in exchange, I gain protection, power, and information from you."

The Consul has a barely concealed look of consideration, but she sees more contempt and annoyance than that. Ophelia smiles again, though a bit more coyly, and opens her mouth to speak, but Valerius has beat her to it.

"What makes you think that I would stoop down to the likes of someone such as you, a commoner with mere favor from the Countess?" He scoffs, huffing out a laugh that holds no mirth.

Ophelia raises a brow and her smile becomes sly. "What makes you think that I am merely a commoner?" she asks. "See, Consul, the difference between people who were born into power and those who never knew or were never born into it is this: those born to poverty have the power of change. And that I have not."

Valerius' brow knots; he cannot help the urge to ask, and he can no longer keep up his stony facade.

"Then whose child, sister, or wife are you, then?" He asks, and though he's curious, he is still as underhandedly snarky as ever.

"I will tell you in due time," she says flippantly, an airy smile on her face. The look of amusement does not fade. "Now, will you accept my proposition? Speak now for I will not offer this past midnight."

He doesn't say anything but leans back in his seat. The moonlight behind him has cast his face in a faint gleam, but his pale, golden eyes shine as though they were distant, dying stars. He looks elegant and beautiful, his lips pale but not bloodless and his dark hair looks as though it glows silver from within.

"Show me that you're not some inexperienced girl."

Ophelia rolls her eyes and gets up from her seat, stepping across the low table to reach him. She sits on his lap, enjoying the look of mild surprise in Valerius' assessing gaze.

She lowers her head until their noses touch, and she angles her head enough to kiss him properly. But she only presses a close-mouthed kiss on the corner of his lips, and murmurs, "No foolish, impatient girl would do this."

Her arms are looped around his neck, but he only has a hand on her waist. Very well, she must convince him indeed.

Ophelia's hand reaches for his jaw and turns his head to the side. With a gentle sigh, she kisses his warm, bare neck. And she moves downwards, her lips sliding against his soft skin. When she settles in his lap more comfortably, she feels the slightest hint of his pleasure.

She nips at his skin gently and then pulls away.

"May I touch your hair?" she asks, her voice smooth and certain as if she was only notifying him. But Valerius knows that she wouldn't without his consent, and he nods, at a loss of words.

"And see here, no foolish girl would ask simply for fear of ruining the tension," she says, her voice low and as sweet as silver bells. "But Consul, I am no fool and there is still tension thick in the air."

Her hand is in his hair, careful not to pull on his braid. She sweeps back the dark, stray hair, and then her finger brushes against the shell of his ear. She presses a kiss against his lips. His breathing is shallower and she feels his quickening pulse against her chest.

She kisses him again, coaxing his lips to open for her. And he does, kissing her back, sliding his tongue against her lips, a soft, breathy sound falling from his mouth.

The hand against her waist is tighter now as if Valerius was gripping on to her for dear life. Her right hand is dragging down from his shoulder to his chest and down to his thigh, and she presses her fingers against his clothed leg. Her palm takes the weight of her arm and presses towards his crotch, and Ophelia smiles as he gasps between their kisses.

She feels him now, hard against her ass, pressing against her core.

She kisses him a little harder now, intent on showing him that she is most certainly not inexperienced. And her tongue is in his mouth, curious, sweeping against his tongue and along the inside of his cheeks. She tastes the sweet oak and vanilla, and she pulls away from him.

Against his ear, she murmurs, "I find that I am growing fond of this kind of wine. The sweetest bite of spice"—she purrs that against his flushed skin, and she nips at his neck playfully—"and the expensive flavor of Venterrean wine and oak."

She looks at him, and there's a hint of both surprise and newfound respect in his eyes. She smiles complacently, and he smiles in mild amusement.

"You might be the most dignified and restrained hedonist I've known. But then again, I know not of many men like you," she sighs, and with a final, close-mouthed kiss, she untangles herself from his arms. She hides her smug grin when she sees his obvious pleasure and simply steps away from him.

He looks impatient, dissatisfied, and positively itching to grasp at her. Exactly what she wants from him. His hands are in fists, his knuckles bloodless and pale, and she can see the gears turning in that clever head of his. She takes her seat across him and looks at him impassively.

The golden ram's brooch attaching his dark shawl to his lighter robes is loosened, a bit skewed to the side. His hair does not look messier, but his braid no longer rests on his shoulder. How handsome he looks under the silver moon, Ophelia muses.

Valerius then murmurs something too low to hear. Her brow rises and a smirk appears on her face.

"Sorry?" she asks, a victorious gleam in her eyes. "I didn't quite catch that."

"I accept your proposition," Valerius mutters, throwing her a disapproving look. His eyes stay on her, studying her face. Her silver eyes are shining, reflecting the stars in the sky and her alabaster skin almost glowing white under the moonlight.

Her hair is as dark as ink, almost midnight blue under the light. She looks quite enchanting, but Valerius reminds himself that she is a witch, after all. And she is a... skilled woman. This deal between them seems beneficial enough. He shifts his legs to hide his situation and makes his face as emotionless as possible.

"Excellent. Now, we need to discuss the sort of things we'll be doing--"

"We'll make it up as we go," Valerius interrupts impatiently. Ophelia frowns at him, but he continues before she can say anything. "You are not going to be occupied for the rest of the night, hm?"

Ophelia raises her chin, and with a slightly haughty but more amused smile, she says, "It seems more apt that I ask that of you, Consul."

"It is Valerius when we are alone."

"You may call me Ophelia, then, Valerius," she grins archly, the name rolling off her tongue with a pleasing purr.

Though she is the one who is teasing him, Valerius feels more eager than he should be. He stands from her seat and holds a hand out to her, an inviting look in his eyes. "Shall we?"

Ophelia hesitates, looking at his hand and debating on whether she should take it or not. A strangely wobbly smile appears on her face, her eyes suddenly bleak and wistful as if she is recalling something or someone. But she hides that look on her face and takes his hand anyway, a seemingly newfound fervor for him.

Though the library was bathed in moonlight, she couldn't help but remember an entirely different person in an entirely different world and time in a similar place. She told herself later, sometime before dawn as she headed back to her chambers, that even mere centuries create different worlds and different men.

For now, she will direct her focus entirely to Valerius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a kudos to show your appreciation, but I will tell you now that feedback is the fountain of youth, life, and more frequent updates.


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